


Almost-October Day

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-27
Updated: 2005-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:38:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daft!fic (can we make that a category?) It's the first month of the boys' first year at Hogwarts, and James suspects Sirius . . . has some issues? ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost-October Day

It started in their first year at Hogwarts, while their four-way friendship was still stiff and awkward, pulling across their shoulders like the brand new shirts they'd ripped from cellophane and worn that first week, cuffs too low on the inside of their wrists, collars too large. It was still September, but that was time enough – time enough for James Potter to gather the shards of information Sirius had scattered around the dorm room like so many cashmere socks and pairs of monogrammed underwear; time enough for the shards to distil into a question of such urgency that it couldn't be contained, not even in deference to the twin considerations of clothing and food. "How was your birthday?" James blurted on the morning of September 27th, wet hair spilling in every direction, tired fingers fumbling as he buttoned his shirt.

Sirius tilted his head, regarding him with aristocratic confusion. "It was . . . the usual," he said cautiously.

James' face lit up with triumph. "HA." He stabbed a finger in Sirius' direction. "I knew it."

Sirius raised an eyebrow.

"Knew what?" asked Peter, looking back and forth between them.

"Lousy birthday!" James said, throwing up his hands. "Lousy birthday, and he says 'the usual' like it's homework we're talking about, like it's chip butties and a Sunday quaffle toss. _Useless_ bugger, I ask you – I _ask_ you."

Remus tucked his shirt tails into his trousers and looked at Sirius for a moment. "Was it?" he asked. "Lousy, I mean?"

Sirius frowned. "I . . ." He lifted his chin a little – ancient and most noble air – ". . . don't believe I understand your question."

"HA!" said James again, as if Sirius had proved his point.

"What did you _do_ on your birthday?" Remus asked, looping his tie around his neck.

Sirius frowned. "Is that a trick question?" he asked.

James rolled his eyes and fell backward onto his bed.

"No," said Remus patiently. "Just . . . asking."

"Well – it was like _anyone_ 's birthday," Sirius said, waving a hand and sitting on his bed to put on his shoes. "There were birthday missives from the lesser families to be read aloud – Mother did that while Father evaluated their gifts – and then a high breakfast of blood sausage and quail eggs."

James made an eloquent gagging noise.

Sirius ignored him. "We received visitors between ten and eleven-thirty – dress robes, naturally – and there was lunch for the extended family in the upper dining room. A walk through Regents' Park in the afternoon, tea with Grandmother, and a dinner for eighty or so guests?"

James lifted his head and stared at him. "You are a right bloody freak."

Sirius gritted his teeth. "There's nothing freakish about . . . "

"Was there _cake_?" The look on James face was an unmitigated challenge.

Remus backed up a step as Sirius threw down a shoe.

"What does bloody _cake_ have to do with anything?" Sirius snapped.

"Were there games?" James continued. "Jokes about farting? _Did anyone pick their nose and wipe it on the mantelpiece?_ "

"Ugh, James . . . " Remus muttered with disgust.

"I wipe mine on the antimacassars," Peter offered helpfully.

Remus threw him a look. "That's . . . brilliant, Peter." He turned back to James and Sirius, who were now barely an inch apart and bristling with indignation.

"What does _snot_ have to do with anything?" Sirius asked incredulously.

"Snot and dirt and kazoos and Nifflers in a box!" James shouted. "Cake and candles! Pudding-filled Balloons! A _real_ fucking birthday!"

Peter gasped and clapped a hand to his face. There was very little swearing tolerated in the Pettigrew household.

"Lovely mouth, Potter," Sirius snapped. "Did the _Muggles_ teach you that?"

"Oh now, Sirius . . . " Remus tried to step forward, extended a hand as if to calm the coming storm.

"WANKER," said James, and socked Sirius in the stomach.

Remus had to admit that Sirius' return blow was unexpectedly forceful, but sighed as both boys fell to the floor, scrabbling as if possessed - cursing, punching, scratching, and grunting like the circus Erumpents pressed into Sumo wrestling on weekends near Bournemouth. It was the seventh fight between the boys since Saturday.

"Sirius' right-hook's getting better," Remus offered, glancing in Peter's direction.

"Wriggly bastard too," Peter noted.

"James bites, though."

"Yeah." Peter slid off his bed and stood beside Remus. "Bit of an advantage that."

Sirius kicked James hard in the shin.

"Ouch," winced Remus. "Well – the kicking ought to even things up."

"Hmmmm." Peter chewed his lip. "Breakfast then?"

"Breakfast," agreed Remus, grabbing his robes from the end of his bed and slinging his book bag over his shoulder. "We're going to eat all the marmalade," he informed James and Sirius cheerfully.

"Fucker!"

"I'll fucking . . . "

"Leave 'em," said Peter. "If the marmalade won't fix 'em, they're doomed."

But it was a decidedly doom-free pair of first-year Gryffindor boys who arrived at the breakfast table some ten minutes later. Sirius was sporting a rakish black eye, and James appeared to be limping, but both were grinning ear to ear as if they'd discovered the meaning of life and the swiftest route to the castle's stash of treacle pudding on the walk from the Tower to the Great Hall.

Wary, Remus pulled the marmalade closer.

"Today," said James, sliding onto the bench next to Peter, "is _Almost-October_ Day."

"Ah." Peter nodded sagely.

"It's _what_?" Remus asked.

"Almost-October Day!" James crowed. "The day on which, henceforth, now and forever, we celebrate the fact that it is _not_ Sirius' birthday."

Sirius sat down beside Remus and beamed.

"Almost-October Day," repeated Remus dryly. "Let me guess. This involves cake, and pudding-filled balloons and possibly even snot wiped places I'd rather not think about?"

" _Yes_ ," said Sirius, nodding in agreement. He reached for the bacon. "No blood sausage, no dress robes, and James suggests we try some four-part, farting harmony."

Remus blinked. "I'm not doing tenor."

"You're clearly the soprano," offered James.

Remus beaned him with a half-chewed piece of toast. "You great, fat arse-boil."

Peter had drifted into some other world. "Cake," he mumbled.

"Cake!" said James. "Which we will procure through . . . "

"Nefarious means, no doubt." Remus chewed on a slice of bacon.

"There really ought to be eleven cakes," Sirius said emphatically. "Don't you think there ought to be eleven cakes? Eleven birthdays without a cake. My family's bloody weird."

Remus and James exchanged a significant look.

"We should chuck a Slytherin in the lake," offered Peter. "Make it a real special occasion."

"We've already chucked four Slytherins in the lake since we got here," James pointed out. "It's boring. We need something better."

"Chuck a Hufflepuff in the lake?" Peter asked.

"That's just mean," Sirius managed around a mouthful of eggs and toast.

Peter was undaunted. "We could chuck a Slytherin _and_ a Hufflepuff in the lake."

"Oh!" Sirius lit up. "I know spells that make people bleed from their eyes!"

There was a long silence. Remus swallowed a mouthful of bacon. "Slytherin in the lake, then."

James made a googly face.

"It should be a relative . . . " Sirius murmured, craning his neck toward the Slytherin table.

"So. Almost-October Day." Remus elbowed Sirius in the ribs, trying to distract him. "Here." He nudged the marmalade toward Sirius. "Happy not-your-birthday, mate."

Sirius grinned, and yanked on his Windsor-knotted tie until it loosened, hanging askew. "Ta," he said, flicking Remus' earlobe.

It was the beginning of everything else.


End file.
